


The Hint Of A Spark

by frafeyrac



Series: Revolutionary School [2]
Category: Les Misérables (2012), Les Misérables - All Media Types, Les Misérables - Schönberg/Boublil, Les Misérables - Victor Hugo
Genre: Alternate Universe - High School, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Catholic School, Genderqueer Character, Grammar School, Grantaire does not handle feelings well, Love/Hate, M/M, Minor Violence, Montparnasse is a weenie, Past Child Abuse, and also a really great boyfriend, enjolras and grantaire love each other really, jehan is fabulous, mostly enjolras and grantaire, nonbinary!Jehan, we'll not get onto Enjolras, with his gang of giant dorks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-19
Updated: 2014-01-19
Packaged: 2018-01-09 07:56:58
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,201
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1143479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/frafeyrac/pseuds/frafeyrac
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Part Two of 'Revolutionary School'</p><p>A nearly ten-year long feud leaves Grantaire and Enjolras as ""enemies""</p><p>That is, until there are a few fights, awkward boners and an in-school suspension</p><p>and Grantaire is totally convinced Jehan has magical powers.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Hint Of A Spark

Jehan’s laid out on the grass, their hair pulled into a low ponytail and their fingers card through the grass softly. Jehan lies on Grantaire’s blazer, the morning sun warming the two of them only slightly. October’s not yet cold, and Jehan’s picking the last of the daisies to make a chain they can wind into Grantaire’s curls.

“Have you seen Enjolras yet?” Jehan asks, and Grantaire shakes his head.

“Nope. Why?”

“He has quite an impressive black eye.”

“Oh.”

Grantaire licks his lip, is tongue running over the cut that still stings. Jehan smirks, and Grantaire catches it out of the corner of his eye.

“Seen Montparnasse?”

“He’s with his other friends, the bunch of nerds he calls his ‘gang’.” Jehan laughs, their head tipping back and Grantaire can’t help but join in.

He loves Montparnasse, but he knows his hard as nails attitude is nothing more than a front he puts on to hide an abusive relationship with his parents and the fact he’s the biggest teddybear Grantaire has ever known. He knows Montparnasse is dangerous, that he’s light fingered and he wouldn’t be surprised if Grantaire had at least seriously injured someone, but he also knew that he wouldn’t dare do a thing to hurt those he loved.

A lifetime that made him flinch and fear any sudden loud noises meant that he understood Montparnasse the day he was walking to Spanish and saw him crying under the stairs. Grantaire had said nothing, just sat next to him and let Montparnasse cry into his shoulder. They didn’t have to tell each other they understood, they just knew.

It was the abuse that made Montparnasse so careful, Grantaire knew his reputation and honestly hadn’t know what to expect from a relationship until Montparnasse had called him and asked him if he could come over because he was _scared_ that Grantaire realised Montparnasse was really nothing more than a kid who wanted attention. And Grantaire gave him attention in the form of love, and Grantaire’s parents didn’t question him when he introduced them to Montparnasse because they just _knew_ as well.

However, this didn’t mean that Montparnasse wasn’t the biggest dork Grantaire (and Jehan) had ever met.

Grantaire stretched out lazily on the grass, and Jehan giggled, ruffling his hair.

“I have a problem.”

“What, R?”

Grantaire groaned, because how was there a great way to say _’So I got into a huge fight yesterday and broke my nose and split my lip then had the most amazing wank of my life over my supposed enemy.’_

“You wanked over Enjolras yesterday, didn’t you?” Jehan’s laughter seems to get louder, and Grantaire blushes.  
He swears Jehan is a mind reader.

“I have two weeks inschool suspension with him, starting at break today, and then two months worth of Tuesday, Thursday and Saturday detentions.” He groans, and Jehan’s smile is wicked.

Inschool suspensions, it turns out, are held in the history building under the eye of that teacher Grantaire was sure was meant to retire years ago, it’s not that he doesn’t love Monsieur Lamarque, but he can see the man is old and sick and he should probably be in a tropical island with his wife or in his big old house with his garden or wherever it is ex-teachers go when they retire.  
Grantaire is told to sit at the front, that he’ll be coming here instead of going to the Hub in his free periods, and that there is to be silence. He takes the seat pointed at him, and he sees Enjolras for the first time that day.

His eye is purple, half closed over and puffy and he looks glorious. The glare he’s shooting Grantaire is murderous, but he looks like something shaped by the hand of God himself. Grantaire reminds himself to shut his mouth and blushes when he thinks of how hard he came yesterday, and how he was very, very nearly caught by Courfeyrac.

“I’ve been informed you boys are to stay in here for the rest of the day.” Lamarque coughs, and Grantaire sighs.

“Why?” Enjolras speaks without raising his hand.

“The headmaster did speak to you both about how you are both barred from future school trips. You know as well as I do that the Politics trip was today. I’m leaving after break and then Monsieur Valjean will be covering you for your detention this-afternoon. You will be left on your own, and Mademoiselle Fauchelevant will be checking on you when she can leave her class. I know how much you were looking forward to this trip Enjolras, but it’s your own fault. I’m sure you’re disappointed too, Raf-“

“-Grantaire, sir.”

“My apologies, Grantaire. I’m sure you’re disappointed and would have enjoyed the alone time.”

Lamarque gives him an apologetic smile, then chuckles at his own joke and Grantaire can’t help but smile back. Lamarque reminds him of a grandfather he knew years and years ago. It’s such a distant memory he can’t recall the man’s name, but he can remember his big garden in the back of his old house, and his old dog and old cat and how in the summer they’d go down to the bottom of the garden and eat the blackberries that grew there and stained his chin and his hands purple. He can remember him shouting at his mother one evening when he came round to visit unannounced and found Grantaire cowering in the cupboard under the stairs. His mother moved after that, he hadn’t seen his grandfather since and honestly he thought the man might be dead. 

Lamarque had the same airs about him as the old man he’d once known did, the kindly air that came with an underlying strictness, a gentleness and quiet way that left you feeling more disappointed than rebellious. Lamarque seemed to be watching Grantaire with an expression of curiosity, although there was a fondness in his eyes that couldn’t quite be replicated. He’d only taught Grantaire a handful of times, but Lamarque had been there as a quiet door that was always open, even if Grantaire never used it.

When the break signalling break was over rang, and Lamarque left with a warning that Mme. Fauchelevent was next door and would not hesitate to come in if they spoke, they were both left alone.

Enjolras was reading the same line over and over in his textbook, Grantaire just watched as he swung on his chair. He was irritating him, he could tell.

“Have you got a question?” Enjolras snapped, his head turning so fast Grantaire thought he heard a crack.

“No, no Apollo. I was just wondering how many times you had to read the same sentence.”

“Did your mother not tell you it was rude to stare?” There was a sneer in his voice. Grantaire told himself not to fall for the bait.

“I thought your nanny would have told you it was rude to snap.”

“She was an au-pair.”

“Same difference.”

They fell back into a casual silence, Grantaire smirked as he watched Enjolras read. He could see the colour rising in his cheeks, how his shoulders began to shake. He’d gone ten minutes without turning a page when he pushed the chair back loudly, feet stamping as he stormed over and grabbed Grantaire’s collar.

Grantaire flinched. He couldn’t help it. His whole body went limp as Enjolras held onto his collar.

“What. Is. Your. Problem?” He paused with each word, biting into the syllables in his anger.

“You. You are my problem.” Grantaire didn’t mean to sound so breathless, he swore he didn’t.

And then he headbutted him.

Another week of in school suspension was really, really worth watching the look of horror on Enjolras’ face when he realized his nose was broken. 

Grantaire had a smug look of satisfaction as Enjolras pushed past him, blood staining his shirt.

It wasn’t that the Bishop was happy, but he was like Lamarque. He understood in ways others didn’t. The disappointed way he was looking at Grantaire over his desk and his spectacles was enough to leave a pit at the bottom of his stomach filled with disappointment. 

“I’m sorry.” He muttered, and Bishop just nodded his head slowly.

“I understand Grantaire, your life has never been easy. I know with what recently happened with your mother, ah, that is, your birth mother must be taking it’s toll on you. Lamarque has already said his door is open if you need to talk, and there are people to help you Grantaire.”

“I don’t need to talk.” _Why don’t you help the kids who really do need help for once?_

“Grantaire, you know we only want the best for you. I’m sorry you had to witness that at the start of the year.”

He doesn’t mean to shudder, but he does.

It had been a September morning, when someone had let out a high pitched laugh and Grantaire had turned round to see a woman with a face he only half recognised. She’d aged prematurely, he’d guessed by the lines on her face and the yellowness of her skin she was using again. He’d been told his mother had been an addict when he was fourteen, when he’d asked if she still wanted to know him. She’d seen him and yelled his name, told him he was coming home with her while his classmates looked on. He could remember how she’d grabbed his arm and he’d flinched, how she’d thrown a punch at him and he’d cowered. Old habits die hard. 

It had been Valjean who threw her out of school grounds, who’d seen Grantaire shaking and extended his hand. Enjolras had thought the whole thing hilarious, no doubt. He hadn’t dared look at him in his shame. Not only had his birth mother, the woman who’s blood ran threw his veins, shown up to his school with her cheap perfume but she’d hit him. She’d made him cower and his breath came in gasps as Jehan held him tightly. She’d shown another reason as to why Grantaire was not like them, he’d given more fuel to those who felt the need to pity him.

He’d gone home that night and cried. He’d pulled at his hair, dark like his fathers, and rubbed his hands into his eyes until they stung. His eyes, her eyes, the same shades of baby blue. He looked at his reflection, at the family portraits where he looked so different to Michel and Manon and even Sábine. He’d found himself wishing for lighter skin and darker eyes and for once in his life praying that he’d wake up and he would no longer have the same dark hair and complexion as his Spanish father. 

But of course, it didn’t happen. It was another notch to add to Grantaire’s cesspit of self hatred.

On leaving the office, it was Jehan who greeted him.

“I heard you broke his nose.” Jehan’s grin was criminal, and Grantaire reminded why he loved them.

“His mama’ll be paying quite a bit to fix her son’s immortal appearance.” He chuckled, and Jehan snorted.

“Courfeyrac spoke to me at lunch today.”

“What did he say?” Grantaire was genuinely curious.

“Not much, he muddled my pronouns up.”

“I’m sorry.”

“No, no! It was good! He was trying so hard to use nonbinary pronouns, he confused his xe’s and zir’s. It was adorable, I never thought I'd see him of all people get so flustered”

“You’re so far gone on him."

“Shut up.” Jehan was blushing red enough to match their hair.

“Aw, no. It’s cute. I’ve found a new found appreciation for The Mountain.”

“He’s so not The Mountain! The Hound, maybe.”

“Which leaves Combeferre as The Mountain? Nah. Combeferre’s The Hound.”  
Grantaire feels arm slip round his waist and can smell the scent of aftershave and tips his head back onto firm shoulders.

“Stop with the Game of Thrones talk. You know it’s a foreign language to me.”

“Parnasse.” Grantaire sighs and Jehan giggles.

“I’m taking you out tonight.”

"Really?” Jehan giggles again, Montparnasse glares at them.

“Not you.” 

“Sh. Jehan’s joking. What’s the occasion?”

“My parents are having friends over. I can’t be in the house with them.”

“Alright.”

Grantaire understands. He understands the need to escape. He understands when Montparnasse pulls him in and kisses him and he can feel his need for comfort. He understands when they rest their foreheads together and Grantaire smiles and tells him it’s alright. They’ve always done this, Montparnasse shows Grantaire a side of him he wants no one else to see and Grantaire shows him his appreciation by loving him for it. Grantaire is there for him when he needs someone who understands without judging him. Grantaire is solid and holds him and whispers the words he wants to hear. Grantaire knows when Montparnasse just needs to feel loved and when he just needs to be fucked and not have any words spoken. 

Grantaire takes his hand as they silently walk across the lawn, it’s all he needs, silence. He thinks of Enjolras, the righteous fury in his eyes and the blood smeared across his upper lip and he feels guilty.

**Author's Note:**

> ahhhh so sorry this wasn't updated in ages!
> 
> I'm going to try and have something new once a week, we're not quite moving fast enough but please let me know as to what you think! 
> 
> i love feedback.
> 
> find me on [tumblr](http://courfeyrac.co.vu)  
> 


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